Written for this image: http://yaoi(dot)y-gallery(dot)net/view/551420/
On the best of days, getting Mako shots is an unpleasant experience. Days when the dosage has been upped yet again are even worse. The Mako makes Angeal queasy and sore and tired. He has no patience for mistakes or paperwork. He waits it out and feels better in a day or so.
Angeal usually has his shots on Friday afternoons, to lessen the time he has to spend in public while suffering the effects of his shots. (He is nothing if not considerate. He knows what a monster he can be.) The later, the better. Then he goes home and sleeps it off. Nothing to it.
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The second Monday of September is not the best of days. To start with, it's a Monday. Angeal doesn't like Mondays. It's also raining, that slow, chilly, penetrating drizzle typical of early autumn. And, to top it all off, he'd woken up feeling somewhat under the weather, which only served to make his mood worse.
At quarter 'til eight, a lab tech knocks on the door and says- very apologetically- that since he'd missed his shots the previous Friday, he's been rescheduled to get them today. In twenty minutes.
Angeal is not pleased. He'd missed the shots because one of the trainees he'd been drilling had managed, somehow, to take a shot to the face with a blunt practice sword and lay his cheek open in the thirty seconds Angeal hadn't been looking his direction. Angeal had spent the next hour or so with him, calming him down and getting him to a doctor. By then, he'd missed his appointment. Was that a crime?
Rather than protest, he signs one last report and follows the tech down to the labs.
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He knows, just minutes after the Mako has been forced into his vein, that the dosage has been upped.
"The level of Mako in this week's shot has been raised by twenty ppm. If you have any complications or display any signs of an adverse reaction to the new dosage, notify the Science Department at once. You may go."
"Thanks," he mutters, and leaves rubbing the crook of his elbow. Secretly, Angeal is mildly afraid of needles, but he learned to ignore it years ago. Mind over matter and all that.
By the time he's back in his office, staring down the stack of reports that seems to grow larger every time he blinks, his stomach is starting to cramp a little, in the way he's grown familiar with.
"Damn Mako," he mutters, and picks up a pen. He has to be out on the practice fields at nine, which only gives him forty-five minutes to get through most of the paperwork.
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By nine thirty, the cramping is stronger and harder to ignore. He blames it on the new dosage and keeps drilling his cadets. He may be feeling sick, but that isn't going to stop him.
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There are no accidents during his drills today. Yes, he had some kids who really don't belong in the military, but his job isn't to weed out the useless ones; his job is to train them all up so someone else can throw the useless ones out and they'll have wasted months or even years of their lives on nothing.
It's eleven thirty when he meets Zack in the mess hall. They're serving something that might have once been chocobo meat. Angeal doesn't really care. He's not hungry.
Zack bounds in with his usual exuberance, giving Angeal a hug before going off to get his lunch. Angeal watches him go, smiling to himself. Nothing gets his puppy down.
Halfway through his babbled recount of the morning, Zack notices something.
"Aren't you going to eat?" he asks, poking at the stuff on Angeal's plate with his fork. "It's not gonna get up and bite, even if it looks like it will. Hasn't killed me yet."
"I got my shot today."
"And? Y'gotta eat."
"Puppy, you know what the shots do to me."
"You usually get 'em in the afternoon, when you don't have anything to do. You've got all kinds of stuff to get done today…you need to eat."
It's funny hearing Zack giving the good advice for a change. And even funnier because he's right, much as Angeal would like to deny it. He sighs and picks up his spork, gives the stuff on his plate a skeptical look, and tries a bite.
He gets through most of it before he sighs and puts the spork down.
"You're supposed to finish it," Zack points out.
"Puppy, if I try and finish this, I'm going to throw it all back up, alright? Be happy I ate as much as I did. And don't you have to be somewhere in…roughly five minutes?"
Zack squeaks and bolts what remains of his lunch, finishes Angeal's, and is out the door in less than three minutes. Angeal snickers and picks up.
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Angeal staggers into a bathroom stall in the locker room just after twelve thirty and doesn't stumble back out until one o'clock. He's nearly gray and looks like death walking. Being the sensible man that he is, he heads for the Clinic.
He gets halfway there before he has to detour and throw up in a planter. A passing Third Class sees him, panics, and runs. Shortly afterwards, when he's on the move again, a pair of massive nurses come to collect him. Angeal is mostly grateful, but fairly indignant about being carried to the Clinic. He's sick, not incapacitated!
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After being handed a plastic basin and being told that it doesn't leave his lap or he'll be tranqued, Angeal admits that maybe he is getting close to incapacitated.
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"Mmmm….congratulations, Mr. Hewley, you're a father."
Angeal chokes. The doctor chuckles.
"You aren't pregnant. You've simply created a new strain of gastroenteritis."
"Small words, please, I can hardly think straight right now."
"You received Mako shots this morning, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Apparently you were already incubating a case of stomach flu before you received the shot. The Mako induced mutation in the virus, leaving you with this new bug. It's nothing dangerous. In fact, it's essentially the same basic symptoms, just stronger. You should be fine in a couple of days."
"And there isn't anything you can do about it?"
"Not without making it worse. I suggest you go home, take some over the counter medication, and rest."
Angeal nods tiredly and slides carefully off the table. It feels like he'll throw up again if he moves too quickly, so he carries himself very delicately. The doctor gives him a sympathetic look and pats his shoulder.
"You can sleep most of it off," he assures Angeal.
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By four o'clock, Angeal wishes he had the energy to jump out a window. He wants to die he feels so bad, and he hasn't taken any medication because he doesn't have any.
The phone rings, right in his ear. He jumps, groans when his stomach twists in warning, and answers.
"Hello?"
"Boss?"
"Puppy?"
"Heard you're home puking your guts up."
"That's about right."
"That sucks! You need anything?"
"Tranquilizers or industrial strength anti-nausea medication. Take your pick."
"Maybe both. I'll be over in a bit, 'kay?"
"Mmph."
"Love you too."
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When Zack walks in, Angeal is curled up on the bed, tired and miserable. He still feels like shit.
"Hey. Gotcha something for your stomach."
"Mmph."
"Is this because of your shot?"
Angeal nods.
"What happened?"
"Mako causes mutations in everything, including the viruses that cause stomach flu."
Zack makes a face, then sighs and shakes up the bottle he's carrying. Angeal ignores him, and is therefore surprised by the plastic cup full of thick pink fluid that Zack shoves in his face.
"Here, take this and go to sleep. I don't like being the responsible adult around here."
Angeal looks at the medicine. A couple of milky bubbles rise to the surface and pop silently. It looks disgusting, but if it will help….Zack knows more about this kind of thing, after all. He didn't have Mako exposure as a child and therefore suffered all kinds of childhood illnesses. Angeal braces himself and tosses the stuff back, swallowing hard to try and get rid of the chalky taste.
It comes back up less than a minute.
Angeal has never heard Zack hit that note before. It's fairly impressive, actually, and he would be laughing if he wasn't hanging over the edge of the bed, choking up the medicine and whatever else is still in his stomach. It hurts.
"Eeeeeew!" Zack complains, doing an unhappy little dance a couple of steps away from the bed. His shirt and pants are splattered with pink, but his boots were somehow spared. He wastes no time in stripping down, handling his clothes carefully. Then he returns to Angeal, perching on the edge of the bed and slipping his hands under Angeal's chest to keep him from losing his balance. "Yeah, so that was a spectacular failure."
"Sorry," Angeal coughs.
"'s okay. Guess you weren't ready for that yet."
"Mmh."
Zack strokes Angeal's hair, just holding him until Angeal tries to sit up. He needs Zack's help to do it; he feels horribly weak.
"You'll be alright," Zack murmurs, still stroking Angeal's hair. "'s just a bug. It'll be gone in a day or two."
Angeal would like to protest, but he doesn't have the energy. He simply slumps against Zack's shoulder and sighs.
"I didn't get any kind of tranquilizer. Didn't find any that you could take while you were on the meds."
"I couldn't keep them down anyway."
They sit there for a few minutes, silent except for Angeal's careful breathing. Then Zack carefully slides off the bed, lowering Angeal back onto it.
"I'm gonna clean all this up, Can I borrow a shirt?"
"Go ahead," Angeal mumbles, and reaches for a pillow to pull over his head.
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By the time Zack has finished mopping up, the air under the pillow has gotten too hot, too heavy, and smells too much like Angeal's breath for him to be able to stay under any longer. He pushes the pillow away and looks up at Zack. His puppy is just carrying the mop and bucket out, working in just his boxers and a big t-shirt he took from Angeal's dresser. He looks over and sees Angeal looking at him, and smiles.
"Feel any better?" he asks.
Angeal shakes his head.
"Not a bit."
Zack sighs, puts the mop and bucket away, and comes back to sit beside Angeal and stroke his hair some more. Angeal lets him do it, taking some small comfort in the repetitive motion. This works to calm him for awhile, until his stomach abruptly lurches, and he's off the bed and into the bathroom before Zack can get out of his way. Angeal hears him hit the floor, but is more concerned with hanging onto the rim of the toilet bowl to keep his balance.
It doesn't matter that there's nothing in his stomach. This bug he's created is hell-bent on forcing his body to reject every possibility of whatever might be in his stomach. There's a little acid and bile, followed by dry heaves hard enough to make Zack come skidding in and grab him around the middle- carefully- to keep him from slamming his chin into the cold porcelain.
When it stops, Angeal just goes limp, trusting Zack to catch him. Zack does, pulling Angeal against his chest. He shifts to cuddle his mentor, crooning soft, comforting words while his hands roam over Angeal's body, instinctively checking for damage.
"You've got a fever," he whispers, letting his hand rest on Angeal's forehead long enough to confirm it. "You should get back to bed."
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Angeal stays in bed for nearly an hour before more dry heaves send him back to huddle on the cold tile of the bathroom floor.
"Y'know, I think you need to eat something," Zack comments, finger-combing Angeal's hair back after the worse of the heaving has subsided.
"No."
"If there's something in your stomach, then you won't get the dry heaves so bad. 's what they made me do on the ship back to Junon last year. And if you're lucky, It'll stay down."
He considers this, then nods tiredly. He feel utterly drained, but what little sleep he's gotten has been restless.
Zack gets up slowly, taking Angeal with him, and bundles him back into bed, urging him to stay put. Angeal does just that, pulling the coverlet around his shoulders to try and warm up a little. It doesn't help much.
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Zack is gone for awhile, though Angeal can hear movement in the direction of the kitchen. He wonders what Zack plans on bringing him, and he wonders if it will help at all. For the first time in a very long time, he wants his mother.
Still stewing in a mixture of misery and embarrassment at this realization, he fails to notice Zack- again- until he's right at the edge of the bed, offering a small bowl.
"Here," Zack says quietly. "Try this."
It's white rice, cooked to near perfection. Some part of Angeal is faintly impressed. He's always believed that a bachelor doesn't have to cook like one, and he's been teaching Zack a few staples, like spaghetti, pancakes, and beef stew. Apparently, Zack has been catching on quick.
Angeal tries a very small bite, fully expecting it to vacate the premises as fast as the medicine did. When it doesn't, he eats a few more small bites, then puts it to the side, not wanting to push his luck.
"Thank you," he murmurs, not looking at Zack. He feels silly. Zack isn't quite nineteen, still growing into his body and his rank, yet here he is, playing nurse for his mentor, the mentor who happens to be pushing thirty. And he's handling it like this is a normal thing for the both of them. Angeal wants to tell Zack to go away, but then he doesn't. He wants the warm comfort of his puppy beside him, telling him that he will be alright, but then he doesn't. It makes his headache worse.
"Any time. Shiva knows you've taken care of me often enough. 'bout time I returned the favor, huh?"
"If you say so."
"I do say so."
With something in his stomach, Angeal is starting to feel sleepy. He doesn't get why, but he's not complaining. A little sleep is more than welcome. Without even thinking, he leans into Zack, who has taken up his post within easy reach on the bed, and closes his eyes. Zack starts petting him again, humming softly under his breath.
Angeal is asleep in minutes.
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For the next couple of hours, Angeal alternates between sleeping lightly and eating little bites of the rice, which Zack insists on. Zack is always there, bending over him, peeking in through the door, or sitting in the corner with a book; it seems that his puppy is growing into a guard dog.
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The peace is too good to last. Around ten that night, after Zack has fallen asleep in the corner, Angeal drags himself out of bed and staggers into the bathroom again. He huddles on the floor for awhile, waiting for the terrible nausea to turn into more vomiting. When it does, he clings to the cold porcelain of the toilet, waiting for it to be over.
After his stomach starts to calm down, Angeal slides to the floor and lies there, shivering, too tired to get up and too miserable to just fall asleep right there.
"Angeal?"
Zack's voice is thick and clumsy with sleep, but that's him in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looks at Angeal, and shakes his head.
"Be right back."
He vanishes into the shadows of the bedroom, returning with the pink bottle of medicine in one hand. He offers it to Angeal.
"Wanna try again?"
Angeal shakes his head. Just thinking about the stuff makes his belly knot up unpleasantly.
"Alright. Wanna get back to bed?"
He shakes his head again. By this time, he's resigned himself to the fact that he's going to be miserably ill whenever it's the least convenient, so it's simpler to just stay within easy reach of the toilet and save them both the mess to clean up later.
"Okay. Wanna be alone?"
A third and final shake. No. He definitely doesn't want to be alone.
Zack puts the bottle down on the floor, digs a towel out of the cabinet, and urges Angeal to sit up for a minute. Angeal does, and he spreads the towel out on the floor. Angeal looks at it, trying to understand why he put that there, while Zack goes back out into the bedroom again. When he comes back, there's a fleece blanket in his hands, the kind that's soft and light but so warm. He sits on the towel, legs crossed, and pats one thigh.
"Lie down," he urges. "I'm not going anywhere."
Angeal does just that, lying on his side, half curled up, one arm folded underneath his upper body. Zack's leg is solid, warm, and comforting.
Zack shakes the blanket out over Angeal and lets it settle over him. Angeal can feel the difference in temperature at once, and he is grateful.
His stomach twists and grumbles irritably. He whimpers at that, and gropes blindly for Zack's hand. He finds one big foot first, and then Zack's hand descends on his, warm and roughly callused, patterned with small scratches and scars that he hadn't learned to avoid yet. Zack pushes his hand back to the floor near his foot, where Angeal won't have to stretch. Angeal half closes his hand around Zack's thumb and sighs heavily.
The touch on his back is barely there at first, but it slowly grows to something stronger, Zack's hand rubbing steady circles between his shoulder blades, right where all the stress and tension and straining from throwing up has been focusing, knotting up the muscle. Angeal begins to relax.
"You'll be alright," Zack says gently, shifting a little to keep the side of his ankle from pressing too hard into the tile. "I'll be here until you're feeling better. Go to sleep."
Angeal is already half gone when Zack says this, and most of what he registers is the familiar voice with unfamiliar tones, a few bits like 'be here' and 'you're feeling'. There is more, but all he gets out of that is a warm, comforting voice and the steady rubbing easing the pain out of his back, until he's really, truly asleep.
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It will be two days before Zack leaves Angeal alone in the little apartment. Most of those two days will be spent on the bathroom floor, on a pad of towels, with Angeal maintaining nearly constant contact with some part of Zack or another.
After that, it will be another two days before Angeal is back at work, and by then all he can do is go in for the afternoon, to collect all the paperwork he missed and to take his shots without complaining, before he goes home and lets Zack ask him how he's feeling a dozen times before he's satisfied.
Zack will be delighted to see his mentor up and about again, and he will insist on a movie marathon to celebrate. Angeal will give in, because he feels he owes it to his puppy.
On the Monday after, other SOLIDERs will start to show symptoms of Angeal's flu. A full third of the force will be down within three days. Within a week, almost all of them have, are recovering from, or have just gotten over it.
Zack will wake up on the next Friday with a sour stomach and a chill that won't go away. He will want Angeal.
He won't even get the chance to think of calling Angeal, because Angeal will be there shortly after Zack wakes up, knowing, in that way he always does, that his puppy needs him. He will spend the weekend wrapped up in blankets and Zack, feeding rice and applesauce to Zack and thanking his lucky stars that Zack doesn't have it as bad as he did.
But he could have it even worse and Angeal wouldn't care.
He'll be there when Zack wakes up, like Zack was there for him.